Twitch
by Garsson
Summary: Over 120,000 players. One copy of Pokemon Red. This is the story of Twitch Plays Pokemon. Red was a normal kid- only dreaming to see the world and befriend Pokemon- until a mob of chaotic voices start to speak inside his head. Driven by these voices and their mysterious warring gods, the Helix Fossil and the Dome Fossil, Red must survive all insanity to win the title "Champion."
1. Day 1

Twitch

"I wanna be the very best— like no one ever was. To catch them is my real test— to train them is my cause." I repeat this morning mantra to myself again as I yawn and stretch, blinking in the yellow sunlight that seeps through the open window to fall across my bed.

Gah— the day is finally here, but it's still too early to go out and meet the professor. Finally, I'm old enough to get my own Pokémon— finally, I'm old enough to leave home and chase my dreams— but before anything can be done, I have to kill a few more hours.

Sighing impatiently, I throw on my clothes, grab the hat Dad gave me before he got deployed, and sit myself down in front of my TV for a good morning of mindless gaming. It's great, I just got a new SNES game, and—

**_Up_**

I lurch forward suddenly, as if pushed. Did someone just…? Could have sworn I heard a voice… But whatever. I shrug my shoulders and go back to my—

**_Left_**

I hear the voice again, and without knowing why, I stagger to my feet, stumbling across the room to my bed as if propelled by a stranger's hand. My heart pounds— my head aches as I pause to lean against the headboard, but the feeling passes. I take a deep breath and shake my head, glancing at the clock. At first, I think I must be misreading the time, but no— somehow the hour hand skipped ahead without my noticing.

"Keep it together, Red," I whisper to myself, "too much gaming— not enough sleep. I just need to chill…"

I decide to go downstairs to say goodbye to my mother. She'll probably wanna see me off, and if nothing else, a conversation with an actual human might wake me up a little more. It's weird: I'm definitely not asleep, but for some reason I almost feel as if I'm still moving in a—

**_A B Up Left Down_**

My hands shake— my world spins— I nearly trip down the stairs. Mom doesn't glance up from her morning coffee. She's been like that— sort of detached— ever since we got the letter in the mail that said Dad wasn't ever coming back.

Trying to keep my balance under control, I walk over and gently tap mom's shoulder to get her attention.

"Hey, Mom, guess what day it is?"

She lifts her gaze to meet mine and manages an empty smile.

"Right," she nods, acknowledging my birthday with the slight motion, "all boys leave home someday. It said so on TV."

"Yeah," I give her a quick hug, hoping she doesn't notice my unusually pale face, my strange shakiness, and try to keep me at home. I think she's been watching the recruitment propaganda again— that always sends her into a mood. "But don't worry, okay? I'll be home soon."

**_ START_**

Her smile gains a little warmth as she nods a second time. "Professor Oak, next door, is looking for you." Her tone carries a calm farewell as she turns back to her breakfast— away from me.

"Okay Mom, thanks." I linger a moment in the doorway, "Mom… See you later."

She doesn't respond. I open the door, and step outside into the sun.

**_LEFT Down A Start UP A B A_**

I want to go next door to see the professor, but my feet refuse to take me there. I want to go get a Pokémon, but I can't get my body to listen. All I need to do is cross the street, but instead I spin and flail and stumble around like a man possessed. All the while, my head rings with nonsensical commands.

**_ Right Down Start_**

I don't understand— where are these words— these letters— these chaotically jumbled voices coming from? What do they mean? I can't begin to guess.

All I know is that with every unsteady step, I get a little bit closer to the tall grass. I was told never to set foot there— that's where the wild Pokémon live, and it's dangerous to go alo—

"Hey! Wait! Don't go out!"

Professor Oak runs toward me out of nowhere, his unruly grey hair sticking up from his head as if blown out of line by some incessant wind. His lined face shows concern— the professor never fails to look out for me, despite the fact that the man's memory has faded to the point where he occasionally forgets his own grandson's name.

"It's unsafe!" he cries as he rushes to my side, "Wild Pokémon live in tall grass! You need your own Pokémon for your protection, Red!"

"Yeah," I nod, stuffing my twitching hands into my pockets to try and hide their obvious motion, "I know. I guess I just… forgot."

"I know, here— come with me." The professor lays a paternal hand on my shoulder and guides me to his lab, making sure I don't have the chance to go astray. I almost appreciate the firm lead—at the moment, I hardly trust myself to stay upright. I'll admit, something isn't quite right with me.

**_Right Left Up_**

Professor Oak takes me up, past his aides, into the back room where his grandson— my old rival— waits beside a table laden with three unmarked pokéballs.

"Gramps!" My spiky-haired rival steps forward with an arrogant scowl plastered across his face, "I'm fed up with waiting!"

"Blue?" The professor seems surprised to see his grandson at the lab. The kid is completely preoccupied with being the best at everything, so I seriously doubt that he ever remembers to spend much time with his grandfather. "Let me think…" the old man muses, tapping a pen to his lips until the sudden euphoria of memory strikes him, "Oh, that's right, I told you to come! Just wait." He pauses and looks around—

**_ A  
_**

—until his distracted gaze finds the pokéballs on the table. "Here, Red! There are three Pokémon here," he laughs, "They are inside the pokéballs. When I was young, I was a serious Pokémon trainer. In my old age, I have only three left, but you can have one! Choose!"

I stand numbly for a moment, processing what I've just heard, making sure Oak's words aren't some trick of the bewilderingly ethereal clamor. My rival takes the opportunity to step forward.

"Hey! Gramps! What about me?" Blue seems affronted by the notion that he's been passed over in favor of the kid next door, as if his position as the professor's grandson should grant him special rights or something. I have to struggle to hide my grin.

"Be patient!" the professor chides, "Blue, you can have one too. That's why I called you here."

Satisfied, my rival nods, shoving me forward towards the encapsulated Pokémon.

**_Right A Start Down_**

"Go ahead, Red. I don't need to be greedy like you. Take your pick."

Part of me wants to spawn up some witty retort to wipe the smirk off the kid's smug face, but before I can find my tongue, the voices— those strange, irresistible voices— compel me towards the pokéballs, forcing me towards my choice.

I pause, my slightly shaking hand hovering over one of the simple, red-and-white orbs. "Professor, what exactly is in here?" My heart thunders in my ears, nearly drowning out the tide of sound flooding through my brain. I can't tell if it's the excitement or the insanity that has my blood pulsing.

Oblivious to my internal confliction, the professor lets the creature go free for a moment's viewing. It resembles a lizard, roughly two feet tall on its hind legs, with rough orange skin and a pale yellow underbelly. The end of its tail blazes hot, and its big blue eyes carry a similar, determined fire.

"Meet Charmander, the fire type Pokémon I'm offering. Charmander here likes living in hot places, and people say that when it rains, steam spouts from the tip of its flaming tail."

I don't need to hear another word— my hand closes on Charmander's empty pokéball without so much as a second's hesitation. I've always loved fire types, and the way Charmander looks at me… cheesy as it sounds, I can just tell that we'll be friends forever.

**_A A Up Down_**

"This one— I want Charmander." I make my voice as firm and as real as possible to drown out the intangible, impossible voices shouting inside my head. In response, Charmander smiles, joyfully spewing a tiny lick of flame from its mouth.

"A good choice," Professor Oak seems to mistake the source of my determination, "this Pokémon is really energetic! Would you like to nickname your new Charmander?"

"Yes," the mob of voices commandeers my throat to say, "I'll call it—"

**_ABBBBBBK(_**

…What? The "name" that falls from my mouth is incomprehensible— a tangle of sound, knotted and garbled and uncertain. The professor gives me an odd look, and Blue starts to snigger. I clear my throat and try again.

"Abby," I repeat, approximating the earlier gibberish, "I'll call it Abby."

I self-consciously send Abby into her pokéball and stuff the thing in my pocket as my rival steps up to make his choice. He ends up picking Squirtle, a water–turtle type thing. Of course, the first thing out of his mouth is a dumb comment about how his new Pokémon is stronger than mine.

Sure, water beats fire when you're talking type advantage, but anyone who hopes to be a half-decent trainer knows that—

**_Up Left Start Up_**

—that there's more to a Pokémon battle than just elemental rock-paper-scissors.

I thank the professor and go to leave, but his self-obsessed grandson won't let me go without a fight.

**_Left Up A Down B Start Up_**

The voices take over— I'm not sure what happens, but somehow Abby and I win without much struggle. My stomach twists slightly to see the battered state of Blue's new Squirtle, but the voices give me no time to dwell on the circumstance of my victory.

Of course, my ever-so-honorable opponent's first word is to complain about how he picked the wrong Pokémon. He declares his intent to make the poor thing fight until it's strong, then takes his leave with some insolent comment. I'm not paying him any attention— I can't care much about what he has to say. The stream of voices in my head takes precedence.

**_You_**

They seem to call out to me amidst the mess of nonsense commands.

**_We have Chosen you to become Champion._**

**_We will make all your dreams come True._**

I shake my head slightly, hoping to dislodge the feeling of multitude inside my mind as I exit the lab.

"Why me?" I whisper, pleading softly to the voices. They don't answer. All they do is repeat the same phrase, over and over:

**_We have Chosen you…_**


	2. Day 2, Part 1

Day Two—Part One

**_B A Right Down Left A Up Down A A Start_**

Thousands of voices, and none of them can agree. They push me this way and that, up hills and down ledges, and then up hills again. I feel like a spinning top— gyrating randomly through the woods and over the landscape— wobbling uncertainly until I fall down and the voices pick me up to spin again.

Time after time, they send me out into the tall grass to do battle with the wild Pokémon and make Abby stronger, but… I don't want to. Not like this, anyway. I don't want to fight. I want to study— I want to learn— I want to befriend— but the voices won't let me. This isn't the right way to train.

**_ Start Left B Down_**

Fight after fight, battle after battle, both Abby and I are forced to get tougher at the voices' command. They push me to my limit— they haven't allowed me a moment's rest since they first started speaking to me in my room. I haven't slept— I haven't even been able to sit down— and poor Abby has been fighting for hours with only brief moments of respite in her pokéball and mere moments of recuperation in the Pokémon center. I run from battle whenever I can, but the voices always—

**_Right Up Up Down Left_**

…do that.

I try to leave the tall grass, to fight my way through the sea of conflicting orders, through the tall grass to the little city called Pewter where maybe I can find help— but before I can make it more than a couple of steps, a wild Pokémon jumps out of nowhere and attempts to attack my face. Again.

This has become such an ordinary occurrence, I hardly care to notice whether my attacker is a Pidgey or one of the tiny purple Rattata that roams the area. It doesn't really matter— I stagger backwards and send out Abby to get rid of it for me all the same. I'm too tired to care for these nuisances anymore.

Abby takes the thing down with a well-aimed scratch, and the battle is over in moments, just like all the others her and I have fought. I steel myself for another eternity of rambling around and bumping into walls, until Abby begins to glow suddenly, stealing my attention as she shines with a strange white light. The voices get louder, excited, and I catch my breath as well, my face breaking into a wide smile.

Swept up in the energy of evolution, Abby's skin deepens from a pale orange to a vibrant red, shining scarlet in the sun. Her rounded head turns angular, her form gains muscle, and the tiny flame at the end of her tail grows to be almost twice its former size.

Almost forgetting my troubles, my trembling, I laugh.

"Look, Abby! You've gone from Charmander to Charmeleon!" I kneel down to give my starter a well-earned hug. "Good job!"

Abby grins and nods at me, her new form nearly bursting with pride, but her exuberance fades to concern when she sees my involuntary shudder. The voices— they want me to move, to—

**_A A Start Down_**

Against my will, my hand pushes the button to send Abby back to her pokéball. I bite my lip and try not to break down as my only friend turns to light and flies back into the tiny sphere that is her home and prison.

How I wish that things were different— I wish we could play and train and grow like any normal trainer and Pokémon—but no. The voices won't have it.

I can almost understand some of what they say. They seem happy that Abby evolved, and… determined, almost. As if some great plan is slowly coming to fruition. And they keep repeating a word—

**_Brock_**

At least, I think it's a word. Maybe it's a—

**_Brock_**

—a name, or something. I'm not sure—

**_Gym_**

**_Defeat Brock_**

**_B A Down Up Right_**

**_Go_**

I twirl uselessly in a circle as the voices struggle to get their act together and decide which way to go. I end up wandering in a general north-ish direction, only colliding with a moderate number of stationary objects along the way. The voices have a talent for guiding me into corners. And walls. And trees. Straight lines seem to be a completely alien concept to these odd, commanding entities. I can't walk two steps without a turn—go three seconds without some twitch.

Eventually, the knee-high grass gives way to grey cobblestone, and street-colored buildings rise to eclipse the cloudless blue sky.

**_Gym_**

**_Pewter Gym_**

**_Go..._**


	3. Day 2, Part 2

Author's Note: Wow, I've been away a while... Sorry about that. Between writer's block, school, and other creative projects, I just couldn't seem to make time for this... I'm going to try to be getting on a regular schedule soon, though, so with any luck it won't happen again. Anyway, thanks to all you people who read and enjoyed this! It really means a lot. And feel free to leave comments and reviews- I'm always eager for constructive criticism. It's the only way to grow. So yeah! Thanks again! I'm going to try to update again by this time next week at least. Assuming life doesn't get in the way again.

-Day 2, Part 2-

_**Brock Start Down Brock is Select Select B A Here**_

I stumble through the Pewter City gym, ricocheting off the walls like a human pinball. There aren't many people in here, just the spiky-haired leader, Brock, and one of his minions. Both pairs of eyes are on me as I struggle to behave like an ordinary human. They must think I'm insane, spiraling around like this. Then again, I probably am insane… is this some bizarre form of schizophrenia? No… I'm fine. Totally fine. I square my shoulders and focus my attention on placing one foot directly in front of the other.

_**A B Start Up Up Down Up Right Brock Left Up**_

Brock raises his eyebrow and crosses his arms as I swerve off into the corner of the gym. I lean against the wall for a moment and squeeze my eyes shut, fighting for control. The voices yell and thrash, they curse me for getting "stuck," but I ignore them. I need a breather. Even if my head weren't full of crazy I'd be stressed right now. Brock is a gym leader. I'm practically training for war.

"Just wait, Abby. It'll be okay. This one battle— after this, we'll go home to mom. We'll be fine." I run my finger over the smooth surface of my partner's pokéball. I doubt she can hear me, but that doesn't matter. The words help me relax.

_**Brock Brock Up Left Left Right Up Battle Down Up Right Right Left**_

The voices are angry. I'm taking too long. They haul me back to my feet and throw me back at the gym. I can see Brock and his minion exchange a glance as I trip over one of the many rocks scattered around the room and land flat on my face. There are too many rocks in here… someone could get hurt.

A helpful hand pulls me upright. I find myself face-to-face with Brock's buddy.

"Stop right there, kid!" The guy laughs, dusting me off. "You're light years from facing Brock! How do you expect to win if you can't manage to stand on your own two feet?"

I know he's teasing, but my mouth is dry. We've made eye contact, and this is a gym. All the rules say we have to battle now.

_** A A Battle Figh Brock A B  
**_

The voices are excited, now. I think they want blood. I feel a bit sick. The kid brings out a pokéball, and I do the same. He's a junior trainer, and his partner is a Diglett— a small, mole-like lump with a pink nose. Mom always used to complain about Digletts churning up her garden, back when she still cared enough to maintain it. I send out Abby in reply. She flexes her claws. This past day has been hard, but I can tell she's eager for battle. At least one of us is…

_** Start Up A B Fight Left Down**_

"Diglett! Use Scratch!" my opponent shouts, moving before I can collect myself.

"Abby! Ember! Now!" The voices scream at me, bombarding me with contradictory commands, but I manage to give Abby the order. I'm not sure why I picked Ember. Abby's a fire type, and Ember is a fire type move. It doesn't do much against a ground type like Diglett… I should have—

_**A Start Up Right Item Up Down B B Select**_

Abby sends a small plume of flame at Diglett. The enemy Pokémon dives beneath the dirt floor, evading the fire completely. It pops up at the last second, raking Abby with its claws. I almost begin to wonder how that's possible— I've never seen Diglett's feet, much less its claws, but the voices take over and I'm forced to abandon that train of thought.

"**Abb**y! U**S**e Grow**L**!"

That's sort of a stupid move right here, but Abby obeys me anyway, growling at the Diglett as it bobs in the dirt. Smoke curls from between her teeth, but Diglett ignores it and scratches at her again. Abby yowls in pain. I wince.

"I told you, kid. Light years." The junior trainer across from me smirks.

I grit my teeth. "A_**b**_by! _**S**_cr_**atc**_h! _**B**_e car_**efu**_l!"

Abby opens her mouth and roars a response, releasing a tiny flame. It's a challenge to the enemy. I'm so proud of her.

Diglett dives into the ground again and tunnels behind Abby, going for the most obvious surprise attack on the planet. The second before Diglett can hit her, Abby lashes out, stabbing her claws into the dirt for an awesome critical hit. That Diglett is going down.

Diglett appears again at the surface, but I can see the pain in its eyes. The voices in my head chitter happily. I order Abby to scratch again. Diglett avoids her attack, but only barely. It swipes at her again, but it misses its mark by a mile. Abby takes the initiative and lashes out in a finishing blow, scraping her claw's against Diglett's head. The junior trainer's Diglett gives in and faints. A flash of light marks its return to the safety of its pokéball.

"You _**d**_o kn_**ow**_ that li_**g**_ht y_**e**_ars are a _**me**_asur_**e**_ of dist_**anc**_e, _**ri**_g_**ht?**_" Though my hands shake and my head spins, I can't resist the taunt. I rub at my eye to stop it from twitching.

The junior trainer visibly clenches his jaw. "This isn't over yet! Sandshrew! I choose you!" Another pokéball is thrown, and out of it appears a yellow mouse covered in brick-like armored scales. Its wicked claws shine dully in the dim fluorescent light of the gym, and its beady black eyes glitter with anticipation.

Abby blows a smoke ring at it.

"Sandshrew! Defense curl!"

"Ab_**by**_! S_**cra**_tch!"

Abby lunges at the Sandshrew, but her claws have almost no effect against the enemy's thick, protected hide. She may as well have been scraping stone.

I grit my teeth. This is annoying. The voices in my head get louder.

**Left Up Brock Right**

"_**A**_bb_**y! G**_ro_**w**_l!"

My voice sounds weird. Oddly echoy. Is it all in my head? Or do the others hear it too? Brock's junior trainer is yelling something to his Pokémon. I can't hear him over the clamor in my brain. Brock himself stands by, watching. He seems intrigued and bemused. I shout something back into the battle, but my own ears can't seem to make sense of the words. Abby seems to understand, though.

She hurls an Ember attack into the air. The Sandshrew dives aside, evading. Abby lunges, seizing the opportunity to drive her claws into the opponent's unprotected belly. Sandshrew screams. It's a critical hit. Sandshrew staggers, then falls into the dirt with a tiny, pathetic thud.

We won.

_**Champion Champion Up Lef Victory B Start**_

The junior trainer calls back his Pokémon.

"Darn… I lost... I guess you're right. Light years isn't time… it is distance. Maybe you're ready to fight Brock, after all. ...But only maybe."

I open my mouth to comment, but the words refuse to come. They get stopped in my throat by the nonsensical rush of letters and directions. The trainer gives me an odd look, but he hands over my winnings without complaint. On the third try, the money makes it into my wallet. Somehow I manage not to drop the thing.

**_A B B Up Brock Up Left Up Brock Brock Battle Brock  
_**

I lurch away from the trainer, compelled by the voices. I don't have a choice. I stumble more or less in the direction of Brock.


End file.
